Here on Hermes
by mfoxtrotromeo
Summary: The five remaining Hermes crew members are told that Mark Watney is alive. Here on Hermes is a three-part story that imagines how the crew might react, aligning with book canon.
1. Chapter 1: Place Your Bets

[The following content contains an excerpt from Chapter 12 of "The Martian" by Andy Weir. Please see full reference below.]

Weir, Andy. The Martian: A Novel. Broadway Books, 2014. 143-145. Print.

 _NASA was loathe to waste research time. Trips to and from Mars were as busy as surface operations. The crew had almost caught up with the backlog of work. T_ _he schedule had been made for six, not five. Beck tried not to think about the painful reason he was doing zero-g plant growth experiments. He noted the size and shape of the fern leaves, took photos, and made notes._

 _Having completed his science schedule for the day, he checked his watch. Perfect timing. The data dump would be completing soon. He floated past the reactor to the Semicone-A ladder._

 _Traveling feet-first along the ladder, he soon had to grip it in earnest as the centripetal force of the rotating ship took hold. By the time he reached Semicone-A he was at 0.4g._

 _No mere luxury, the artificial gravity kept them fit. Without it, they would have spent their first week on Mars barely able to walk. Exercise regimens could keep the heart and bones healthy, but none had been devised that would give them full function from Sol 1._

 _Because the ship was already designed for it, they used the system on the return trip as well. Johanssen sat at her station. Lewis sat in the adjacent seat while Vogel and Martinez hovered nearby. The data dump carried emails and videos from home. It was the high point of the day._

" _Is it here yet?" Beck asked as he entered the bridge._

" _Almost, " Johanssen said. "98%."_

" _You're looking cheerful, Martinez, " Beck said._

" _My son turned three yesterday, " He beamed. "Should be some pics of the party. How about you?"_

" _Nothing special, " Beck said. "Peer-reviews of a paper I wrote a few years back."_

" _Complete, " Johanssen said. "All the personal emails are dispatched to your laptops. Also there's a telemetry update for Vogel and a system update for me. Huh… there's a voice message addressed to the whole crew."_

 _She looked over her shoulder to Lewis._

 _Lewis shrugged. "Play it."_

 _Johanssen opened the message, then sat back._

" _Hermes, this is Mitch Henderson, " the message began._

" _Henderson?" Martinez said, puzzled. "Talking directly to us without CAPCOM?"_

 _Lewis held her hand up to signal for silence._

" _I have some news, " Mitch's voice continued, "There's no subtle way to put this: Mark Watney's still alive."_

 _Johanssen gasped._

" _Wha-" Beck stammered._

 _Vogel stood agape as a shocked expression swept across his face._

 _Martinez looked to Lewis. She leaned forward and pinched her chin._

" _I know that's a surprise, " Mitch continued. "And I know you'll have a lot of questions. We're going to answer those questions. But for now I'll just give you the basics._

" _He's alive and healthy. We found out two months ago and decided not to tell you; we even censored personal messages. I was strongly against all that. We're telling you now because we finally have communication with him and a viable rescue plan. It boils down to Ares 4 picking him up with a modified MDV._

" _We'll get you a full write-up of what happened, but it's definitely not your fault. Mark stresses that every time it comes up. It was just bad luck._

" _Take some time to absorb this. Your science schedules are cleared for tomorrow. Send all the questions you want and we'll answer them. Henderson out."_

 _The message's end brought stunned silence to the bridge._

" _He…He's alive?" Martinez said, then smiled._

 _Vogel nodded excitedly. "He lives."_

 _Johanssen stared at her screen in wide-eyed disbelief._

" _Holy shit, " Beck laughed. "Holy shit! Commander! He's alive!"_

" _I left him behind, " Lewis said quietly._

 _The celebrations ceased immediately as the crew saw their commander's inconsolable expression._

" _But, " Beck began, "We all left togeth-"_

" _You followed orders, " Lewis interrupted. "I left him behind. In a barren, unreachable, godforsaken wasteland."_

 _Beck looked to Martinez pleadingly. Martinez opened his mouth, but could find no words to say._

 _Lewis trudged off the bridge._

[Excerpt from Chapter 12 of "The Martian" by Andy Weir.]

* * *

The crew of Hermes was gathered in The Rec. Beck, Martinez, and Vogel were in the midst of a heated discussion. Johanssen sat curled around her computer.

While the rest of the crew had used their liberated schedules to congregate and discuss Henderson's message, Lewis had spent her spare time at the gym. Pushing herself through the last five kilometers had hurt, but she welcomed the momentary distraction from her thoughts.

"Commander," Vogel greeted, nodding in her direction.

Lewis claimed a seat, her gym towel slung around her neck. Other than brief mission-related interactions, the Commander had been quiet all day. The data dump was scheduled to arrive shortly.

"Good evening," she responded, dabbing at her forehead, "What're we talking about?"

"Watney," Martinez said. "How he did it."

Lewis nodded. She'd expected as much. Hell, she'd been doing the same. "So, what are your theories?"

"To save you some time and the pain of another orbital dynamics lecture, we've agreed that Johanssen and Vogel have a good theory as to how NASA discovered Watney, assuming he had no way of communicating with Houston immediately following the storm. And now Beck and Vogel are discussing his food supply. Again."

"Let's hear it." Lewis said.

"Food or communications?" Beck asked.

"Both. But hang on a second, Johanssen, how long until data dump is completed?"

"Data upload at 63%," Johanssen said, eyes not leaving her computer. "Completion in four minutes, forty seconds. It's a larger upload than usual."

"Must be the backlog of messages NASA redacted," Lewis said. "I've changed my mind. Let's hear the food theory first."

Vogel nodded at Beck to begin.

Beck settled into his seat, "Well, we agree that assuming little to no damage to the Hab, the remaining food supply as of Sol 6 would feed six people for 50 days, or one person for 300," he began. "Rationed, the calorie supply could last Watney 600 days. Ares 4 isn't scheduled to land until Sol 1412. Realistically, a sustained food supply could not be grown in the few Earth soil samples we brought with us."

"You're forgetting his superpower," Martinez objected. "He's a botanist. If he can't find a way to grow plants, what's he good for?"

"Could it be done?" Lewis asked.

"It is possible, but not without difficulty," Vogel chose his words carefully. "Mixing Earth biomatter with the Mars soil would add some bacteria to make the soil fertile," he explained, "But it is not enough. He would need to make the manure to supplement."

"Okay, so let's assume he's done this," Lewis nodded, "He'd need space to grow crops and water to germinate the seeds."

"Right?! Thank you, Commander," Beck said. "Water is what we're getting stuck on."

"This is where we disagree, Commander." Vogel keyed in a few commands on his computer and turned it around for Lewis, switching the language to English. "The Water Reclaimer in the Hab has 300 liters of water. Not enough to grow crops. However, there might be a way for him to make water."

" _Make_ water?" Lewis raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Water is a product when the oxygen and hydrogen atoms are heated. There is extra supply of both oxygen and hydrogen in what we brought to the surface. It would not be difficult to create this reaction," Vogel explained.

"Agreed. But it would be difficult to create that safely," Lewis said. "He'd have to deliberately start a fire in the Hab."

" _Ja_."

"Which is absurd," Beck objected. "It's absolutely not safe. One false step and we've got Hindenburg all over again."

Lewis looked from Beck to Vogel.

Vogel nodded. "There is danger. But it is not impossible."

"It seems farfetched," Beck scoffed.

"So, what's your theory, Dr. Beck?"

"I've been re-reading his lab journals and notes. There's a lot of discussion around aeroponic farming: you know, growing plants in a soil-less environment. Making Mars' soil arable might be possible, but consider this. There's enough ceiling space in the Hab to suspend hundreds of germinated plants. Upkeep would include adjusting the life support settings to make the Hab environment more humid and using the Earth biomatter to mix a nutrient solution spray for the roots. With the materials we had, this could work." He looked pleased with his theory.

Vogel shook his head. "Risky."

"Not as risky as intentionally creating explosions!"

"Not enough certainty that this would work. There is more certainty in the chemical reaction."

"Th-" Beck had opened his mouth to argue when Martinez interrupted.

"Hey, lab geeks," Martinez asserted. "As much as we'd all _love_ to listen to your bickering, what do you say to making this a bit more interesting?"

Four sets of eyes landed on him. He grinned.

"You're not thinking about gambling on Watney's life, are you?" Lewis asked, an edge of danger in her tone.

Martinez immediately looked reproachful, "No, never. I say Vogel and Beck place bets on their theories. Whoever's is closest wins." His childlike smile returned.

"I'm in." Beck's eyes flashed and he looked at Vogel. "Name your terms."

Vogel leaned back in his seat and pinched his chin thoughtfully. A slow smile spread across his face. "Have you heard of _Struwwelpeter_?"

When the crew shook their heads, he continued.

"It is a collection of fairy tales for children. My wife tells me that our youngest is having trouble sleeping. When I win, we will create video message to send to my family. I will narrate a story and Dr. Beck, you will act it out."

No one expected that.

Martinez broke the silence, laughing. "Tell me our Doctor gets to sit on your knee and be a dummy for some freak-show German ventriloquist act!"

"I have not decided. But I will not discount that as an option."

Beck looked horrified.

Martinez laughed heartily, nearly drowning out Johanssen's breathy chuckle.

Even Lewis cracked a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards at the indignity of it all.

Recovering, Martinez turned to Beck, "What do you win?"

"Data upload at 94%," Johanssen called out.

"I was thinking something along the lines of getting my breakfast served in bed," Beck said. "Clearly I'll have to up my game."

Vogel shrugged.

"Full body shave."

"Isn't that a little childish?" Lewis asked.

Vogel reached out to shake hands with Beck. "You have a deal, Doctor."

Martinez jumped in, grabbing both their wrists. "Right. By the power vested in me by the Martian gods, I pronounce this treaty legally binding. Loser pays up within seven Sols. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Lewis shook her head in mocked disgust.

"Just in time, too," Johanssen said. "Upload nearly complete. Looks like everyone has personal messages. Some dated from weeks ago. Martinez, it looks like they're expecting a complete fuel and diagnostic report from you soon. Have fun with that. Commander, there's a bunch of updates for you and your hydrogen isotopic lab results are in. Most importantly, it looks like we've received the full report on Watney. You have access to these from your computers now," she tapped the trackpad dramatically.

"Let's see who our winner is," Martinez opened Henderson's report eagerly and skimmed through the pages.

Incredulous silence hung in the room while they read.

"Watney, you cheeky bastard," Martinez laughed at last and looked up.

Johanssen clasped a hand to her mouth, happy tears escaping her eyes as she laughed.

Lewis remained composed, but sat taller, as if some weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"This is classic Mark Watney," Martinez continued. "NASA probably shit their pants when he sent them the photo looking like the freaking Fonz. Man, this needs to be my desktop background. Hey, Johanssen, how do I screen cap on this thing?"

Vogel sat back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head. He grinned at Beck. The doctor avoided him, pretending to finish reading the lengthy report.

"It is a shame that we do not have _lederhosen_ ," Vogel lamented, "I am certain they would suit you."

"Smug prick," Beck muttered. But he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from twitching.

Johanssen looked up from Martinez's screen and caught Beck's eye across the table. "I can't believe you bet against Vogel," she said quietly, "And on a chemistry-related topic. Your brain must be turning to mush." She smiled.

He couldn't help but smile back.

For the next hour, the crew sat together, replying to each of the messages from home, tackling the staggering pile of required paperwork, or re-reading Watney's mission report. The mood on the Hermes shifted its crew worked, satisfied for the moment knowing that Mark Watney was alive and kicking.


	2. Chapter 2: Highs and Lows

[Author's note: Thank you for taking the time to read this piece! I'm thrilled you've returned for Chapter 2. The story continues where we've left off, circa Sol 100. Reviews and feedback of all types are welcomed.]

"How's that report coming along?" Johanssen asked, pushing her now-cold coffee cup into the microwave.

Martinez sighed and shook his head. He'd been analyzing diagnostic readouts all morning. "About 60% done. This one's more thorough than usual, too. At first I thought they were punishing me for that 'Top Gun' comment in the last log, but now…" he trailed off, catching Johanssen's eye.

"What?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"'I _feel_ the need…'"

Johanssen glared.

"You little nerds have no sense of humor," he shook his head in mocked sadness. "On another note, I don't think I'll get over how strange you look drinking from one of those," he said, nodding at the specially designed cup.

The coffee cup looked like a lab beaker bred with a wineskin. To drink from it in 0-g, you had to pinch the liquid out from the bottom. It was like drinking from a Capri Sun package without the straw. Of course, the Rec had centripetal gravity, so the pinching method was not necessary, but NASA had higher priorities than sending two sets of cups to Mars.

"Stop changing the subject," Johanssen scolded, retrieving her cup and taking a seat beside Martinez. "What's going on?"

"I shouldn't say," Martinez said, shaking his head and returning to his work.

"No secrets on this ship," Johanssen reminded him, doing her best Lewis impression. "Besides, how do you know I wasn't thinking the same thing?"

He eyed her suspiciously.

"Just say it."

"Okay. Look here," he said, pushing his computer towards her. "They're asking for the usual remaining fuel tank volume, pressure, mass, predicted mileage, planned trajectory, temperature, and frequency of cleaning but then they're also asking for a report on projected corrosion rates, corrosion additions, piping blockages, panel maintenance… it's very detailed.

"The thing is, they can get all this information from my log and maintenance reports, and also from your sysop reports. So why are they asking for redundant information?"

"That's true… they can easily run the numbers themselves," Johanssen agreed. "Watney?"

"Bingo."

"You think they're trying to find out if we can go back for him before Ares 4?"

"You know Commander Lewis will think it's dangerous to start hoping. But yes. We're the closest ones to him. They have to be playing with that idea. Right now, I think they want us to confirm what they already know."

"I've been thinking about that too. I couldn't sleep last night, so I tried different scenarios. As much as I'd like to say it's possible, I think we're limited by fuel," Johanssen said sadly.

"And we don't have an MDV to get to the surface. Or an MAV."

"Shoot."

"I know. This sucks."

Both were quiet for a minute.

"Well, there's no use moping," Martinez said, never one to be kept down, "I'm sure they'll come up with a brilliant plan to save Watney. But I think this is worth mentioning this at status."

"You're right. He's alive and that's what matters. I can help you finish these," Johanssen offered. "I'm a bit ahead of schedule."

"Thanks, Johanssen. You can be my wingwoman any time."

"I don't think your wife would appreciate that."

"Ugh," Martinez sighed, "You're supposed to say-"

"I know. 'Bullshit. You can be mine.'"

"Much better."

* * *

A little while later, the crew gathered for status.

"Let's get through this quickly," Lewis began, "I'd like to focus on our response to the Watney Report. Beck, why don't you start?"

"Watney's plant growth experiments are progressing. Hermes life support levels are normal and their filters are functional. No signs of damage other than normal wear and tear. There was a request in one of the updates I received yesterday. Dr. Irene Shields, our Flight Psychologist, would like me to report on the crew's psychological state post Watney Report. She's sent a series of questions, so I will need to speak with each of you privately over the next little while. Nothing too invasive. If you are more comfortable speaking with her directly, she is open to that as well."

"Ok. Vogel?"

"Power output at normal. Telemetry stable. I will need to request a soil sample pH report on the next data upload. I would like to compare some of my test results to the results gathered by Ares 2."

"I will put in a request. Need anything else?"

Vogel shook his head.

"Alright. Johanssen?"

"All systems go, Commander."

"Good. Martinez?"

"I think you should hear this."

As he explained what he and Johanssen had examined earlier, the crew listened intently, but the air felt heavier. By the end, it felt downright tense.

"So you're telling me that even though Watney is alive and we are the closest people to him, NASA is expecting us to come home with our tail between our legs?" Beck asked.

"Martinez and I estimate that, with the supplies we have now, we cannot go back for Mark and survive."

"We can't do _anything_?" Beck said, anger colouring his tone.

Martinez shook his head. "Not at the moment."

"Would it be possible with a resupply?" Vogel asked, forcing himself to stay calm.

Martinez and Johanssen shared a look.

"It's possible," she admitted slowly. "Though it would take a hell of a lot of precise calculations and minimal prep time for NASA. Even if the supply ship got into orbit, we found it, and it somehow managed to dock, we might be pushing our luck. Hermes is designed for a 396 day mission."

"Parts of the ship might break or malfunction if we extended the mission time," Martinez agreed. "I don't see NASA going for that option."

"If they have to choose between getting the five of us back safely at little risk and getting the six of us home, but at a high risk, I see them choosing the first option," Lewis said quietly.

It was quiet in the room when she said "six." They all felt Watney's loss.

"Damn it!" Beck blurted, frustrated. "Why couldn't they just tell us as soon as they knew?!"

"I don't think that would have made a difference," Johanssen said.

"Maybe not," Vogel's jaw was clenched. "But they should not have kept this news from us for so long."

"I agree," said Lewis. "However, doing anything other than returning to Earth is not in our marching orders. It's unlikely they would have let us return for him even if we had all the right equipment. Which might be for his own safety. And ours. What does it do to someone when they get left behind?"

She trailed off, leaving the rest struggling to find the right words. Martinez was the first to recover.

"Henderson's message said Watney doesn't blame us. That it was bad luck," Martinez stressed, catching Lewis' eye. Changing tactics, he looked around at the others, "Think of the ego boost he'll get when he can say he colonized Mars. Or rather, don't. He was bad enough before," he tried to hitch a smile to his face.

It almost worked.

"Whatever we decide, we cannot approach this recklessly," Vogel said. "Emotional, passionate people make mistakes."

"And I, for one, would like to avoid any more upsets on this mission," Lewis said, regaining composure. She sat up taller and cleared her throat, "Well, I think this discussion carries us nicely into our response to NASA. Let's start with a series of questions since we were promised answers."

In the end, they came up with:

 _While we respect Houston's decision to delay relaying this information, we strongly disagree. We are very relieved to know that Watney is thriving and are formally requesting to communicate with him. Please inform us as to how and when we may do so. We are also volunteering our services to assist in his rescue in any way possible. We are eager to see him returned home safely. Please keep us informed of any developments. He's a pain in the ass, but we miss that guy._

"Martinez, was it necessary to add the 'pain in the ass' bit?"

"He'd do the same for any of us," Martinez stated. It sounded harsher than he'd intended.

That was the end of that.

"This response will be sent with tomorrow's upload," Johanssen confirmed. Worry lines creased her forehead.

"Okay. If nobody minds, I'm going to turn in a bit early tonight," Lewis said slowly, moving towards the door. "It's been a long day."

Nobody minded.

"Good night, Commander."

"Great work today," she said. "See you in the morning."

One by one, the crew left the table to finish up their tasks before heading to their quarters.

As he was leaving, Martinez tapped Beck's shoulder.

"Check in with her, will you?" he asked quietly, nodding towards Lewis' closed door. "I haven't seen her this low since the funeral."

Beck nodded and turned back to his journal revisions. He'd noticed the same thing.


	3. Chapter 3: Breathe Out

[Author's note: The story picks up where we've left off, circa Sol 101. To those of you who wrote reviews or followed, I really appreciate the support! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.]

Before going to his own quarters, Beck tapped on the door to Lewis' room.

"Come in!" she called. It sounded muffled.

He slid open the door to find Lewis bent over, hands and fleet flat against the floor.

While he knew that practicing yoga theoretically helped to counteract the long-term effect of a 0-g environment on the body, he'd never seen any of the crew practice other than during their training sessions on Earth. NASA had them on a regulated workout regimen that did not include downward dog. He felt slightly awkward intruding on a quiet moment.

"I've got two counts left," she explained before exhaling deeply and standing. "Sorry about that. How can I help you?"

"I've never taken you for a yoga person," he said.

"And what does a yoga person look like?" she asked, eyebrow raised. She smiled, though.

When he didn't respond, she explained, "I'm not usually a yoga person, but it's helpful to relax a bit before bed. What can I help you with?"

"I'm here on behalf of the crew, actually. They're… _we're_ worried about you."

She crossed her arms over her chest and eyed him warily.

"Why don't we take a seat," he suggested, gesturing to the space inside her quarters.

She didn't budge. "Are you here as my doctor or my friend?"

"I'd like to be here as a friend, but if you'd rather have a doctor…" He trailed off, maintaining eye contact.

She stayed silent.

"I have psych reports to submit shortly. I am happy to have this conversation as you doctor, but I can also set you up with Dr. Shields if you'd like, too."

"No, no. Friend is fine."

"Good. I prefer that option too. And it seems like you might need a friend more than a doctor right now."

"What makes you say that?"

They took seats: Lewis on her cot, Beck on the small cabinet that doubled as a night stand in the corner. The rooms on Hermes were small by any Earth standards: room for a single cot, some storage for their clothing and computers, and a few square feet of space to maneuver. Tiny, but certainly not as small as those on the International Space Station. He could not imagine sleeping in cabins the size of a phone booth for an extended period. However, he was grateful that the living quarters on Hermes included centripetal gravity so they did not have to strap themselves into sleeping bags suspended on the walls every night.

Distracted, he almost forgot he was supposed to be answering her question. "Because we haven't seen you like this since the funeral. Since you gave Watney's eulogy. And because if I put myself in your shoes, I'd think it would be normal for you to feel the way you're feeling. It doesn't take a psychologist to figure that out."

"And how am I feeling?"

He shook his head. "I think that may have to come from you."

She sat silent for a while, but tucked her legs underneath her.

"No secrets on this ship," Beck reminded her, trying to lighten the mood.

Annoyed at having her own words used against her, she grumbled something unintelligible. Beck thought it sounded like, "Might as well get this over with." She shifted position.

"I asked you this before," she began, picking at the fabric of her NASA-issued sweatpants, "but do you think I made the right call?"

"Yes. There is no doubt in my mind that you did the right thing, getting the rest of us out," Beck said. Sol 6 was their last day on Mars and the last time any of them had seen Watney alive.

"The rational part of my mind tells me that what's done is done. That I did what I was trained to do. That I made the right call and got us out in time. But the other side reminds me that I have a responsibility to each of the members of this crew, their families, and their loved ones. And it's reminding me that I've failed in my responsibility to Mark Watney and his parents."

"And how does that make you feel?"

She thought for a moment. "Guilty. And angry with myself. And then I'm angry with myself because I'm letting my emotions get to me and affect my work. And then guilty again for failing to be a good leader." She looked up, "Does any of that make sense?"

"Yes, actually. It's tough," he agreed. "Our friend died. We held a funeral. We spoke to his family. We started to heal. But now we're back to square one. This whole situation is bound to mess with us emotionally."

She looked at him and nodded. "I've dealt with death before, but nothing like this. Nothing purely accidental. And I've never left someone behind."

"I believe that. I do."

She sat up straight, stoic as always. But he could tell there was more going on than she admitted. Satisfied for the moment that she had nothing more to say, he asked, "How are you coping with all this?"

She sighed. "I don't know. I go to the gym a lot more. Running helps distract me."

"Anything else?"

"I might distance myself from others more than I should," she admitted.

He nodded. He'd noticed both of those behaviours. "Do you find that those strategies help you?"

"In the moment, yes. But in the long run, I guess there are better ways to deal."

"There are. But it's important that you're ready to stop feeling guilty and angry. It may take some work to heal, but it requires that you feel ready for change."

She nodded. "I'm ready."

He smiled. "Well, we can start with positive coping mechanisms. Exercise is good, but too much wears down the body, which _will_ affect your work. Start with sticking to our exercise plan. When you feel like you'd rather go to the gym, come talk to someone, even if it's about something unrelated. It would also help to break the habit of reclusiveness you've been forming. Human contact is important for recovery. Make sense so far?"

She nodded.

"Then, I think it would be useful to spend some time reminding yourself who you are and what you want. Some people find it useful to write out a list of core values. A reminder of what's important to them. Then, they make sure that all the future decisions they make align with one or more of those values."

"Makes sense," she agreed. "But what if two of my values are in direct conflict with each other?"

"What do you mean?"

"I need to do what's right for the crew and do what I can to get us home safety, but I need to do right by Watney."

He nodded. "Right now, those seem like conflicting interests. All we can do is be hopeful that those needs align at some point. For now, though, I'd suggest focusing on the need that seems more attainable. Then, we'll figure out how to achieve both." As he said the words, he started to believe them himself.

She took a deep breath. "Alright. Thank you, Dr. Beck. You've given me a lot to think over."

"No more unscheduled gym time, no more hiding, and write out what's important to you. That's where we need to start. The rest will sort itself out in time." He got up to leave.

"Oh-" she called him back, "Are you going to write that stuff I said about letting this affect my work?"

He paused in the doorway.

"I have to write my report as a professional, so I have to include some detail," he paused, considering. "There's work to be done, but nothing in our conversation has led me to believe you're unfit for duty. I'll make sure NASA understands that."

She nodded gravely. "I understand and I trust your judgment. Thank you."

"We trust yours as well. Good night, Commander."

"Night."

As he continued down the narrow hall to the comfort of his own cot, he caught sight of Johanssen sitting crossed-legged on her bed, computer on her lap. Her door was always open. She beckoned him to come in.

"How's Lewis?" she asked, removing her headphones from her ears. She'd been unwinding with one of her Kung Fu movies.

"She's healing," Beck shrugged. "I have no doubt that she'll be back to her normal self soon. She's tough."

"She _is_ tough." Johanssen agreed. "And that's good to hear. I think it will take some time for all of us to heal." Then she paused and considered him. "You're the doctor on board," she stated the obvious, "You're responsible for taking care of all of us."

He nodded, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

"So who looks after you?"

"What?"

"Who do you talk to?"

"Well, Dr. Shields is always available if I need her, but-"

"If you need someone _on board_ to talk to…" she offered, trailing off awkwardly.

"Thanks." He meant it sincerely.

Despite the stress and confusion and combing through the muddled emotions of his team, that night he lay in his bed feeling slightly more hopeful than he had in a while.


End file.
